In Your Words
by SeungSeiRan
Summary: Even in private, I'm still nothing to you. Jin x Julia.


I'm not a Jin/Julia fan. So, why I am I writing this? Just to try something different :). This one's very dark and twisted so if you don't like writing of this sort, click the 'Back' icon. Not my best piece, don't say I didn't warn you… Carver, if you're reading, this one's for you. I've kept my promise.

* * *

_**Try to find what makes you tick**_

_As I lie down_

_Sore and sick_

_**Do you like that?**_

_**Do you like that?**_

_There's a fine line between love and hate_

_And __**I don't mind**_

_Just let me say that __**I like that**_

_**I like that**_

_Something's getting in the way_

_Something's just about to break_

_**I will try to find my place in the diary of Jane**_

_As I burn another page_

_As I look the other way_

_**I still try to find my place in the diary of Jane**_

- Diary of Jane, Breaking Benjamin.

* * *

Guess what?

I found it. I knew you kept one. A deceptively worn-out, tattered volume but a diary nonetheless.

I must say, it made for some interesting reading. Your likes, loathes, dreams, and fears all under my gaze as I turn the pages. The handwriting is small, neat, and precise. Just as I expected. No fancy little loops and flourishes. Like my mother's. Clear as crystal. You remind me of her a lot at times. The way you clasp your hands in prayer before a fight, the fact that you are most comfortable in natural surroundings, all those small things.

Are you surprised that I noticed?

There are many things about me that may surprise you.

Or wouldn't surprise you. You have a knack for seeing through the haze that I project. It scares me. It _fascinates_ me. You're different from me, different from them.

Would you care?

Judging from your entries, I suppose _not_.

You know, back when I used to attend the high-school that Heihachi owned, I came across a note-book belonging to one of my class-mates. It had been carelessly forgotten on the main stair-case so I couldn't help but open it to reveal the name of the owner. The first page was covered with doodles. Clouds, spirals, hearts, flowers, and everything else that teenage girls liked to scribble in between classes. The second page had her name as well as mine. Linked together in an especially large heart. A gruesome sight.

But you don't care about that, don't you?

The girls in school would try and catch my eye with what they assumed was a winning smile. Maybe a wink or two if they felt particularly attractive that day. You, on the other hand, sent me a glare that could have given me a burn. I don't blame you. What could I expect from someone whose mother had been supposedly kidnapped by my power-crazed megalomaniac of a grandfather?

What a pity. We might have been allies.

Friends even.

I still remember the way you looked at me. That pure, unrelenting hatred.

I couldn't get it out of my mind. Still can't, in fact.

That was two years ago. And yet I don't find my name anywhere in here. Not even a snide remark. Do you not think of me at all?

I flipped the pages to find descriptions, descriptions, descriptions. You don't seem to like talking about the frilly things that most girls like. For the first time in my life I have access to someone else's truth. Truth is such a rarity nowadays. It's always kept locked up and hidden away. In this case, in here. A plain, old book.

You refused to be vulnerable. Never once flinched during our battle. You're not one to back down from a challenge, aren't you?

In here, you don't seem as tough as the image you like to portray. The fragility is refreshing. It pleases me to know that you aren't superhuman, made of steel. I see that you have endured some hard times. I wish that I could have been there with you. I would have loved to see you cry…

Of course it would break me to see you weep. Then again, it would also thrill me.

It would have given me great pleasure to see my vulnerability reflected in you.

Tit for tat.

I must be mad to be talking to a person not even in my presence.

But I don't think I ever was properly sane anyway.

What do you call it when you infiltrate another person's mind? Her soul? Her thoughts?

Invasion of privacy?

Voyeurism?

Mind-rape?

I am doing this against your will so it must be the last one. With these words, _your own words_, I am invading you. You are here, in this very room, submitting to me. Bowing down to my will, obeying my pleasure. I can feel you shudder under my touch and hear you cry at the sound of my breath in your ear. With one word, one caress, you are mine and mine alone.

And then you break free and the spell is shattered.

You've worked your magic on him.

These written confessions. True and passionate as they are, never will they be for my ears. You've been saving and protecting them for him whom you've entrapped with that elusive charm of yours. You're a wretched addiction, do you know that? No, of course not. You are the last damn woman on earth who would be accused of using and abusing a man like a hard and fast whore.

Because you don't need your face and body to make them reel at your feet. It's in that penetrating stare in your eyes, that heart which feeds on every secret emotion within every soul which crosses your path as well as your own crystallized tears behind those eyes, waiting and begging for release.

There's nothing more that I want than to make those tears flow. For me, just for me. And your purity would rain down on me, being so long-awaited.

And in that, I have failed.

In this diary, you've mentioned the name of only one man who has achieved what I couldn't. You laugh and you cry only for him. Paragraphs upon paragraphs of thoughts about the way he makes you want more of him.

He's told you how he feels.

He's touched you.

He's stroked your hair.

He's kissed you.

He's violated what should have become mine.

With these words, you've made me desire more than the enigma you present to me. I want to,_ need_ to break down those walls you've put up against me and the rest of the world. Is it 'obsession' or 'love' that drives me to rip apart the pages of your life into tiny, insignificant little shreds? What can I say or do about a woman who represents everything I plead for and nothing that I deserve?

I hate you and I love you with all of my blackened heart and it's killing me.

You are my poison and my antidote. My prayer and my curse. My pleasure and my pain…

I'm letting it sink in. Let the emotions take over me…

I can smell you on him as he slips into his stance. I've lost you to him.

You've gone forever and never once looked back.

_Mother, forgive me for my weakness._

This time, I shall make him pay.


End file.
